


(no) rest for the wicked

by monarchs



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Depositions, Drama & Romance, Fix-It of Sorts, Harvard Era, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 09:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monarchs/pseuds/monarchs
Summary: A complex mark indicates the presence of a soulmate. A simple one indicates the presence of a nemesis instead. Eduardo's and Mark's don't match, but moreover, Mark's soulmark is too simple: it readsFBin rudimentary chicken scratches.





	(no) rest for the wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: not about the real people. 
> 
> Also, unbeta'd.

## X

Erica had left a note on Mark's screen. It was smart – it was the only place Mark would actually look anytime soon, anytime within the decade.

She turned twenty yesterday. Mark had seen her soulmark when she had walked past Kirkland today. It was blooming on her cheek, a rose with petals a sort of red-orange, like the brick buildings of Harvard. Or fallen leaves, cracking under the weight of a tired world.

 _Sorry, - E.A._ , the note had said. 

People said that marks hurt when they first present. It was actually a good sign if they did. The more it etched, the more complex it was, the more likely the person was going to be fine in the long-term.

The more likely they were to meet a soulmate – and not a nemesis.

So, people endured the pain. It was nothing compared with what fate had in store for those with simpler marks. 

Mark crumbled Erica's post-it and let it fall onto the floor. It was easier this way – they wouldn't waste each other's time. He turned on his computer and laptop, then went to get two bottles of beer to kickstart the evening. 

Six hours into the night and four more bottles later, Eduardo walked in, looking a little concerned. "Are you okay?"

"I need you," Mark said, simply. He looked up from his screen, the cogs of his mind still trying to work around a website that ranked girls. Still trying to work around the hurt that followed a breakup. 

Mark looked back at his screen, reached out, set the brightness lower. "I need the algorithm," he clarified, words barely loud enough for only Eduardo to hear.

Eduardo looked away, his expression too difficult for Mark to comprehend.

  
  
  
  
  
  


## C

Eduardo was rubbing at his soulmark on his left forearm (or at least he was rubbing that general area of his jacket) when Mark had arrived, getting rid of the snow from his flip-flop by kicking against the doorframe. He searched for his keys in his shorts, but they dropped onto his mat as he fished them out because his hands were too cold. He groaned and bent down, feeling the stiffness in his spine, the exhaustion in his knees.

Just when he could tell that Eduardo was going to say something, he said, "I should just give you the key next time. Faster that way."

Eduardo double took for a second, and then exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He hadn't gelled it much today. 

He said, "we were supposed to meet at 9."

Mark looked at him for a bit, but when the key finally worked the door open, he turned away and stalked to his computer, forcefully intent. He bit on the inside of his lip before saying, "I have to add something."

"What?" Eduardo asked, drained, leaning onto the doorframe. "Have you even slept? Mark?"

Mark didn't look away from the screen. He started typing when all the relevant windows were done loading. His fingers warmed up, biting away at the cold. The website was seconds away from being launched now. It only needed the finishing touches.

_Soulmark status._

The finishing blow.

"Shit," Eduardo had said. "That looks good. That looks really fucking good."

Mark smiled, proud, smug.

Smiled a little gently too, when he saw Eduardo fiddling with Mark's dorm key in his fingers.  
  
  


  


  
  
  
  
  
  


## H

Eduardo had the most complex (almost uselessly complex) soulmark Mark had ever seen.

Apparently, it had hurt a lot too. Eduardo said that for each of the eleven nights that led up to his birthday, a random letter, its strokes flourish and its decoration ornate, like a historiated initial in an old story book, would break through his skin. Sketched with excruciating care, agonizing slowness. 

He had hurt for eleven nights straight. Screams barely muffled by his pillow, tears rolling down his cheeks as waves of pain seared through his entire body for hours. He had to stay in the campus walk-in clinic during the time, for fear of disturbing other students.

In the end, the letters didn't even make up a real word, which baffled everyone every single time they asked to see it, but it was complex enough for doctors to say that he was going to do okay. That he was going to have a great future, an equally great soulmate.

 _X C H M M R G J J P C_ , it had read, like wooden alphabet blocks, abandoned in the corner of a nursery room.

  
  
  
  
  
  


## M

Mark's soulmark came around three months after the launch.

It hadn't hurt much at all. He hadn't even realized it had presented. It barely even itched.

Dustin was the one to point it out, though he hadn't really known what it was when he did. He had been staring at the side of Mark's neck a little too hard, a finger on his mouth as he ruminated sternly over what he was seeing. "Mark. I know you love the website almost like someone would their baby, but isn't it a tad unhealthy of you to get a tattoo of it? It's like a little edgy? Just my two cents though, please don't throw anything at me!"

Chris was smiling at first, but then he wasn't smiling anymore when he turned to look at what Dustin was referring to. "That's not a tattoo, Dustin," he said.

Eduardo only stared from the couch, putting down his copy of the latest _Economist_. Stared at Mark's neck like there was some kind of venomous snake wrapped around it, ready to bite. 

It wasn't a snake though.

The mark read _FB_ in rudimentary chicken scratches.

And Eduardo had turned as pale as a ghost.

Simple soulmarks were the works of the devil. Mark could practically hear them say it – everyone around him. His roommates, his classmates, his professors, his tutees, Erica, the girls he had insulted, the guys at Dworkin, strangers in the street, even the clerk at the twenty-four-seven convenience store one block away.

Mark shrugged it off, pulled up his hoodie so that they would all stop staring, all stop talking, all stop asking.

Eventually, most of them did stop asking.

Some of them stopped staring too.

Except Eduardo.

Eduardo would stare – discreetly of course, but he would sometimes zone out just from staring, and it was hard for Mark not to notice.

But somehow, it was okay, if it was just Eduardo.

Eduardo didn't say anything about it, didn't bother Mark about it. And he'd still look at Mark, just _Mark_ , the way he always used to, before his mark had manifested. 

Soft eyes, a forgiving expression, a gentle smile.

Eduardo never made him feel anything less than what he was.

Always made him feel like he was more.

 _Much_ much more.

  
  
  
  
  
  


##  M 

Mark hadn't wanted to go back home, but he had to before he left for Palo Alto. For the short ten days he was at his parents' place, he had been tricked to see experts by everyone, at least once. Randi and his mother had been especially worked up about his mark.

He knew they were family, but he really hated it when people asked to see it. When Donna had asked, he had almost snapped. It wasn't her fault, it wasn't anyone's, really, but it sure started to suck when he was reduced to nothing but the mark on his neck – nothing but an omen, a symbol of impending trouble. 

He stayed locked in his bedroom most of the time, to avoid contact with anyone. He'd only go to the living room when everyone had gone to bed, so he could grab something to eat, and walk around a little, stretch his legs.

On the eve of his flight to Palo Alto however, his father had stayed up to watch an old adaptation of Sherlock Holmes on the television. 

On one of Sherlock's wrists was written _Muse_ in the same kind of chicken scratch Mark's _FB_ was written in. Moriarty, who was in the scene, standing opposite of Holmes in a ridiculously dramatic stance and a warehouse kind of backdrop, wearing a fedora hat and a nasty grin, flashed his wrist to show a matching _Muse_ back at Sherlock.

 _This is so fucking stupid_ , Mark thought, bored, as he flexed an arm. 

"The curtains are drawn, Sherlock. You've to face the facts… We are predestined archnemeses," Moriarty cackled.

The silence that followed was almost histrionic. Sherlock raised his other wrist, his sleeve running down, revealing an elaborate and golden caduceus. He smiled triumphantly as Moriarty went pale.

"Maybe one day you'll have something else too," his father had said, turning off the television, giving him a soft expression and motioning that he was going to call it a day. Mark looked down at his keyboard, unsure what to say.

It was the only comment on the matter his father had said to him.

No one had two soulmarks, Mark thought, staring down at his wrists. 

That was sheer fiction. Hopeful thinking. Utter idiocy.

A text came in at the same time his father left the living room. It was from Eduardo. He had just quit the internship, even though it was just the first day. Mark lay down on his side and stared at the text message.

He wondered idly if Eduardo believed in this sort of thing – having two soulmarks. 

(But why would he? Mark thought as he slipped into sleep.

Eduardo was promised a soulmate, after all.)

  
  
  
  
  
  


## R

Palo Alto saw rain, and a scowling Eduardo, drenched head to toe.

Mark knew Eduardo hated it when Sean showed off his mark like it was something public, something impersonal.

"You're such a prude. Loosen it up man! How would your soulmate know if you hide yours like that?"

"It's been 5 years since you've hit twenty and you haven't found yours either," Eduardo pointed out vehemently.

"Geez, you're worse than my mother," Sean replied. 

"Wardo, you've got to see The Wall," Mark murmured, tugging at Eduardo's sleeve, his other hand rubbing his neck, which he had wrapped in tape bandage.

Eduardo looked at him guiltily, glancing down at where Mark's other hand was. "I— Can I put down my bag in your room or something?" 

Mark nodded, a little nervously.

"I don't want that guy representing himself as part of the company," Eduardo said the moment the door closed behind Mark.

"I think you have a nice mark," Mark said instead. "You shouldn't have to hide it. Sean's right—"

"Sean is anything but _right_. _Fuck_ , don't you get it?" Eduardo snapped, his hand covering the general area of his forearm. "We're— _you're_ playing right into his hands, and I'm not going to let you, not this time. I can't—"

"I need you, Wardo," Mark whispered. 

Eduardo gave him a pained expression, his grip on his arm tighter, the wet fabric taut. "You can't pull that shit on me all the time."

Mark swallowed dry. He looked away. "Don't tell him I said that."

Eduardo shook his head, and then said, sternly, "I'm going to tell him to get out."

Mark exhaled. "He knows people."

"Do you _know_ what it's like, 14 hours a day, riding subways in New York to find advertisers?" Eduardo snapped.

"Much less effective than him placing one single call from a landline in Palo Alto," Mark said, because that was how facts worked.

Eduardo looked like he wanted to burst in anger or in tears, and somehow, that didn't make Mark feel so good. He looked down at the carpet, bit down on his lower lip, too afraid to look back up again. 

He heard Eduardo exhale, readjust his bag strap, and then leave the room.

Mark's neck started stinging a bit. He closed his eyes, pressed his palm against it, tried to make the pain go away.

But it didn't.

Not for days, not for weeks.

And it only got worse and worse.

  
  
  
  
  
  


## G

The pain got unbearable to the point that, occasionally, Mark couldn't code at all. Sometimes, his mark even bled. Not that much to be alarming, but enough for the bandages to get ruined, which meant he had to re-wrap new ones more frequently, and wear something with a higher collar so that people wouldn't notice the stains before he did.

He had wanted to wait until they hit a million members before seeing a doctor about it, but things got busy. With the account frozen, he had to scramble around for some money in order to keep the servers up. Sean didn't have any money, so Mark had to ask elsewhere, pool it from friends from college and distant relatives, looking especially for those who didn't know about his mark. (Everyone knew.)

He'd been so busy trying to hustle all the money he could get that he hadn't noticed at all what Sean had cooked up in the meantime, to push Eduardo out of the company.

It would have made so much more sense if Sean's soulmark had matched Mark's. But it didn't. 

Mark looked at his name card, flipped it through his fingers, contemplating the logo, the design, wondering if Facebook was going to be his downfall after all. The lights in the distant rooms flickered off as the last of people left the office.

He eyed the other box, hesitant at first but then decided, masochistically almost, to take out a card. He ran his thumb against the embossed font, staring solemnly at the words.

 _I'm CFO, asshole,_ the letters read. Ruefully.

  
  
  
  
  
  


##  J 

He should be angrier, really, but he wasn't.

And he shouldn't be thinking about Eduardo either, not at this time, because it hurt— more than it did with Erica – but he was thinking of him. 

He thought of Eduardo and his weird way of saying "tonight". He thought of Eduardo, carrying a chicken inside a cage, running across the campus, late for his econ class. He thought of Eduardo, sat on Mark's bed, reading one of Mark's Greek myth books, his long fingers on its tattered covers.

He thought of Eduardo's mark – a string of letters that could only be some sort of code – a code that no one could break, its meaning lost and buried too deep beneath its strokes. 

Eduardo was surrounded by cream-of-the-crop people almost twenty-four-seven, yet not a single person could figure his mark out.

It proved that Harvard was nothing after all – if no one could solve one small eleven-letter mystery.

Mark was wearing Eduardo's jacket, and it still smelled like Eduardo even though Mark had stolen it a long time ago. 

Eduardo. Eduardo. _Wardo_.

Would Wardo ever forgive him for what he had done? 

Or was this (Mark sitting alone at the headquarters, picking up pieces of his once laptop, and maybe pieces of his heart too, the lights turning off one by one, ignoring his presence, bending to the laws of physics, his knees hurting from kneeling, his cheeks from holding back tears) the end?

He unwrapped his bandages, looking at his reflection in Dustin's unlit computer screen. The mark was throbbing, dark and swollen, like the fissure of a merciless earthquake, nothing like the mark of an angel, nothing like it was theorized to be.

The lights flickered above him, disquietly.

  
  
  
  
  
  


##  J 

Donna had gotten her mark three years later. It was an olive tree in bloom, etched right above her chest. Mark was happy for her, as happy as he could get while under the fire of two lawsuits anyways.

He went back home to celebrate, and that was when his mother took him aside from the crowd of relatives and friends, and told him that Eduardo had passed by, and dropped his 'stuff'. A cardboard box that only contained one hoodie, a copy of Ovid's _Metamorphoses_ that he had once lent Eduardo a long time ago - a bookmark about halfway through - and a sole key.

It was Mark's dorm room key.

He held it to his chest, and his mother rubbed his shoulder, before leaving him be.

He locked himself in his room for the evening, not caring that this wasn't exactly fair to Donna. He lay on his bed, holding the key above his face, examining it, like it too, was a mystery.

It was well-kept. Shiny still. He could see his own mark reflected in it if he focused enough.

What an ugly mark it had become. His mother kept telling him he should see a doctor, but at this point, he'd rather live with the pain and reminder if he had to.

He stared at the key a bit more, maybe one too many minutes more, before something hit him. 

He sat up straight on his bed, scrutinizing it even harder. 

The next moment, he tumbled out of bed clumsily to get to his computer. He started typing a code – and then – tried to remember Eduardo's soulmark – the order of the letters—

 _XCHMMRGJJPC_. 

It was like he was reading off his own forearm.

He was surprised he could conjure them up, like that, out of thin air.

Like it had been his own mark, since always, for always.

  
  
  
  
  
  


## P

8:10AM: 

fb is the key

Mark had spent the entire night trying to solve the cypher. It took him more than a couple sheets of notepad to get a few algorithms down in order to write up decoders for the select few existing cypher languages that required keys. 

(Each algorithm reminded him of the one Eduardo had written on his window, all those years ago, and it hurt how the memory was agonizingly close and far, all at the same time.)

8:11AM: 

Excuse me?

Mark really wasn't good at algorithms, and they got trickier with every failure. 

But he knew he had to be right – there was no other explanation to the marks otherwise.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. His neck had gone numb, but the tingling under his fingers felt more like humming excitement than anything else.

8:11AM: 

fb doesn't stand for facebook. it's the key to ur mark

Mark stared at his phone, mildly antsy for Eduardo's reply.

It took a good thirty minutes – an eternity, for Eduardo to reply.

8:42AM:

You think I haven't tried that already?

Mark bit his lower lip. He didn't think Eduardo would be too friendly, given the circumstances, but at least he was responding. 

Mark was going to take anything he was given.

8:42AM: 

why didn't u tell me

8:44AM:

Tell you what?

8:44AM: 

that u tried my mark as the key

8:44AM:

Because it didn't work! Nothing did!

8:46AM:

Please stop texting me. Please.

8:46AM:

It hurts enough having to continue on with life knowing you fucking exist 

8:46AM:

if it worked we'd be soulmates

8:55AM: 

What part of

8:56AM: 

you know what, fuck you

8:58AM: 

i'm blocking you

Mark wanted to type _I'd really have liked that, being soulmates_ , but thought better of it. He looked at the screen of his phone until it went dark, knowing fully well that Eduardo must have blocked him by now. Not that a block could really block him but. It was still a block.

Mark was going to see Eduardo in two days however, for the depositions against the Winklevii. All Mark had to do now, was focus on decoding Eduardo's mark in time. 

He cracked his fingers and knuckles, massaged his temples, trying to will away his migraine with just sheer determination, before letting his hands caress the keyboard, work his way through ten different codes for ten different decoder scripts, all of which spat back more nonsensical letters, more dead ends that eroded his resolve, bit by bit, pixel by pixel.

But somehow, he believed he had just enough of it to last. 

Resolve – and hope.

His phone stayed silent all the while, and he thought about Erica. 

Not that he missed her. Not at all. Only, he wondered why she would have dumped him based on the fact that she knew she had a soulmate out there. What kind of reasoning was that?

Somehow, she had assumed, without Mark having presented, without knowing what Mark's mark could be, that Mark wasn't her soulmate.

Was it intuition? Was it a choice?

If she could do that – if she could hurt him on the basis of absolutely nothing, then why couldn't Mark think that Eduardo was his soulmate, even when the marks didn't match? 

Did it even make sense that Eduardo was hurting so much right now, even after having been in pain for eleven days when his mark had first manifested?

If Mark was going to suffer, because the simplicity of his mark only promised something as melodramatic as an archnemesis, something as grim as a Greek tragicomedy, then he might as well do or say something outrageous – because at the end of the day, whether he played nice or not, it would be the same – he would be punished.

So even if it didn't make sense, even if the marks didn't match, even if the world held him back, telling him he was wrong, in soothing nothings whispered into his ear, every night for the rest of his life, he was going to say and believe and _know_ and declare to the world that Eduardo, and none other than Eduardo, was his soulmate.

  
  
  
  
  
  


## C

"Your soulmate is suing you for six-hundred million dollars," Gage said, stern.

Mark smiled sadly, and responded with a solemn and almost sincere: "I didn't know that, tell me more." 

  
  
  
  
  
  


## FB

Mark didn't have to initiate the conversation with Eduardo.

Eduardo did on his own. 

He had grabbed Mark's collar, twisting his fingers in the fabric, pushing him up against the door, saying, "what in the worldly fuck did you tell them?"

"Tell who what?"

Eduardo scoffed, cocking his head in exasperation. "Sure. You're going to convince me that you can score 1600 on the SAT, get into the most prestigious university in the world, code the next biggest game-changing website of the fucking century, but can't figure out for the life of you, what I just asked you."

"Can I look at your mark?" Mark asked, offhandedly, eyes shifting towards Eduardo's covered forearm.

Something between confusion and anger flickered in Eduardo's eyes. "So that you could what? Rub it in that I'm the eighth wonder of the world? Fuck you."

"No, I think there's one letter we've been misreading," Mark said.

Eduardo scoffed. "Misreading?"

"Yeah. I think one of the Js is in fact an I."

"What makes you—"

"I've decoded it," Mark said, lowering his eyes before looking back up into Eduardo's.

Eduardo stared back, frozen. Mark stepped back and away as Eduardo loosened his grip. He quickly produced a crumbled sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, revealing a sort of word soup puzzle square, with several letters circled and highlighted messily.

"What—" Eduardo widened his eyes at it.

"It's a Vigenere square," Mark said.

Eduardo shook his head. "But I've tried that. Multiple times— with both FB and Facebook as keywords and I didn't get anything intelligible—"

"You went with the traditional order of the alphabet," Mark said.

"That's… that's how the Vigenere square works—" Eduardo had started saying, only to realize what Mark had meant. " _You_. It couldn't be— what did— what does—" Eduardo opened his mouth, closed it, looked like he was about to go mad, tears circling in his eyes. He looked down at his forearm, quickly upturning his sleeve.

Mark looked over, and then pointed at the first J initial. "This should be an I."

Eduardo studied it wearily. "It does look like an I."

"It's the order of the alphabet on a keyboard," Mark said.

Eduardo nodded, not taking his eyes off of his forearm. "Yeah. I know. Now, I know," he grimaced lightly, "fuck."

Mark licked his lower lip. "You— do you want to know what it says—"

Eduardo closed his eyes. "It's eleven letters. It can't be your name. It can't—"

"No, it's not," Mark responded, a little restless, his fists starting to tremble.

Eduardo swallowed hard and then opened his eyes. "What does it say?"

"You'll hate it."

"Of course I will. This hurt for eleven nights, and more. Except I stopped counting after you—"

"I told them you were my soulmate."

"What?"

"You asked, what in the worldly fuck I told them. I told them you were my soulmate. That you were the one I wanted to work with."

"You're truly awful. You know that, right?" Eduardo said as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't think that's what soulmates say to each other," Mark said.

" _Mark_. Just. What does it say?"

Eduardo enunciated his name the way he used to, when he was impatient, exasperated, but also maybe fond, maybe forbearing, maybe when he was too in love it hurt. 

Back when they were just kids at Harvard University, back when they only had to stress over small things like exams and cute girls and Plato's theories and how bitchy Chris could get whenever he had to miss one day of Shark Week. 

_Mark_. He never thought he'd miss hearing the way Eduardo said his name this badly.

So instead of telling him what his mark read, Mark leaned upward and kissed him.

Because somehow, it made more sense, and it felt more right, than what two almost-mismatched soulmarks had to say about each other.

He tasted Eduardo's tears, soft and salty and full of pain, pain that Mark wished he could take away, wished he could carry in Eduardo's stead.

He kissed gently. Just enough to feel the shape of their lips fit together, like two puzzle pieces finally clicking together, the feeling when two cardboard pieces make that hushing noise of completeness. Of sought-for plenitude.

Eduardo was breathing hard when he pulled back, eyes looking down at the loosened bandages around Mark's neck. He reached towards it, his fingertips touching the scar gently, soothing it. He then leaned down to kiss it, let his tears burn against it, softly.

Mark couldn't help but tremble.

"What does it say?" Eduardo asked, burying his nose into Mark's curls. " _God_. I shouldn't want you. I really shouldn't."

Mark started feeling like something was in his throat too. Words maybe— jumbled up and caught in his chest, unable to come out. 

Eduardo's sleeve rolled back down, covering the letters, and Mark grabbed it, kissed the remaining letters, trying to find courage there, somehow, or comfort. Some rest for the wicked. Eduardo looked at Mark like he was holding his heart in his hands.

Mark smiled briefly before feeling a rush of emotions to the head, and then, with the lights turning off in the corridors outside, he said, in nothing but a whisper, barely loud enough for nearby ghosts to hear:

" _I need you, Wardo_."

"I'm here," Eduardo responded, almost systematically, almost like that was the most natural response to it, to Mark, to his soulmate.

"That's what it says," Mark added, closing his eyes. "' _I need u, Wardo_ '. With a u, the way I write them in texts."

He could feel Eduardo scoff, smile ruefully. Feel the way Eduardo leaned into him, feel the way pain finally eased off of him, feel the way his tears formed, how he must have closed his eyes too and thought, with a certain sense of relief, with a certain sense of liberation, peace, with a certain sense of love, once lost but found again:

_Yeah. I know._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading...! i would love to know what you thought of it.
> 
> [here](https://cryptii.com/pipes/vigenere-cipher) is a vigenere square decoder, [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vigen%C3%A8re_cipher) is the wikipedia page. I do not know anything about cyphers... lmfao.


End file.
